


Pigtails

by thedaughterofkings



Series: Kiss Meme [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Stiles, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles' jeep has to go to the shop after the showdown with Gerard, it's Jackson of all people that starts giving him rides to school. It doesn't mean they're suddenly friends though. Now if only Scott would stop talking about pigtails!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pigtails

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon prompt for [my kiss meme](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/tagged/and%20let%20me%20kiss%20you): "Stackson + a hoarse whisper 'kiss me'." 
> 
> There's some more information about the panic attack in the fic [here](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/private/138946698896/tumblr_o28zq6zQJH1sgfu22) (contains fic spoilers).
> 
> Many thanks to my amazing beta and cheerleader [Larissa](http://ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com/)!

When all is said and done, that is Jackson is naked and crying, and Gerard is bleeding black and dying, and Stiles is apparently still freaking out and rhyming, somehow the honour of taking Jackson and Lydia home falls on him.

 

He’s very tempted to make a “Take your litter home” joke, but he didn’t even bring Jackson and no one calls Lydia Martin trash and survives it.

 

So he just stays quiet and tries to forget that Jackson’s naked butt is touching his backseat right now and that Lydia’s probably touching Jackson’s naked butt.

 

Or his naked arm, but really, what’s the difference – Jackson’s a dick either way.

 

Oh god, no, bad brain, stop thinking about Jackson’s dick.

 

He now has the technicolour visual to go with that thought and great, now he is thinking about Jackson’s naked dick while Jackson’s naked butt is touching his baby and Lydia is 

touching Jackson’s naked everything.

 

The way his day is going, he’ll probably dream about Jackson’s dick spouting black blood tonight.

 

Awesome.

 

~*~

 

Stiles does dream about Jackson’s dick that night and though it doesn’t spout black blood, he still firmly adds it to the rapidly growing list of nightmares he needs to forget ASAP.

 

His jeep thankfully mostly survived its encounter with evil lizard Jackson but it still needs to go to the shop for a couple of days to fix the bumps and scratches and smashed headlights.

 

And wasn’t that fun to explain to his dad. Stiles doesn’t think he believed the “I accidentally hit a bin” story that Stiles tried to feed him. Stiles certainly wouldn’t.

 

But that means that early Monday morning, Stiles is about halfway to school when Jackson’s Porsche pulls up next to him, window rolled down.

 

Jackson is leaning out of it, smirking and not looking a single bit worse for wear for actually dying and being reborn – twice sort of – over the weekend.

 

“Get in, Stilinski!”

 

Stiles blinks. Wait, what?

 

“I know your piece of crap’s at the shop, so stop gawking unattractively and get in!”

 

Jackson is starting to sound impatient and Stiles’ brain is going wild with scenarios that begin with him getting into that car and end with him dead in a dumpster somewhere.

 

What comes out of his mouth though is: “Are you going to say ‘Get in, loser, we’re going shopping’ next?”

 

“Oh, please,” a new voice scoffs and Lydia leans across Jackson to look at Stiles.

 

“If anyone’s Regina George here, it’s obviously me!”

 

Did Lydia Martin just make a joke? A Mean Girls reference and a joke? That made fun of herself and not of Stiles?

 

Stiles’ brain is officially out of commission.

 

And really, since when does he not immediately notice Lydia? There used to be a time when he could basically  _ feel _ her presence as soon as she got close enough, like some sort of Lydia sensor! Perhaps that is his superpower?

 

But now he’s apparently lost it.

 

“Chop, chop, you’re going to make us late, Stiles,” Lydia commands and Jackson does some weird – but still impressive, talk about flexibility – contortions and opens Stiles’ door for him.

 

And Stiles gets in.

 

~*~

 

When they arrive at school, everyone stops and stares.

 

And really, why wouldn’t they, the guy was dead three days ago.

 

It makes it very awkward for Stiles to get out of the car though.

 

He tries his best to be invisible but the collective surprise of the entire student body is practically a physical entity as soon as he opens the door. Stiles can see people start to whisper almost immediately and for once he’s glad he doesn’t have werewolf hearing and can remain blissfully ignorant.

 

Scott’s waiting for him at the doors, eyes wide open and mouth opened even further.

 

“Shut up,” Stiles says as soon as he reaches him, Lydia and Jackson already lost in the crowd of students.

 

“I didn’t say anything!” Scott complains and Stiles returns: “But you were going to!”

 

And because Scott is going to get it out of him eventually anyways, he continues:

 

“I was walking to school and they stopped next to me and basically kidnapped me and Lydia 

Martin made a Mean Girls joke. And that’s it. Story time over.”

 

Scott understandably looks as though he still has a million questions but Stiles just hurries to his locker, trying to ignore the stares and whispers that follow his every step.

 

~*~

 

Class thankfully doesn’t give people many opportunities to gossip and by lunch time Stiles is almost starting to feel normal again.

 

When they get to the cafeteria though, Allison is sitting next to Lydia at a table with Jackson and Danny. Stiles is prepared to spend his lunch period being ignored while Scott stares over his shoulder at Allison like a lost puppy but then she smiles at them.

 

It’s cautious and a bit brittle, but it’s definitely a smile and Scott’s practically leaving smoking tracks in the cafeteria floor in his hurry to get to her. He sits down next to Danny which puts him opposite Allison, probably to make staring soulfully into her eyes easier.

 

The only free space is thus the one between Scott and Allison, opposite Jackson. It weirdly makes it feel as though they are the parents of this weird brood, sitting at the heads of the table at a very awkward lunch with their little supernatural family – and Danny.

 

Speaking of the supernatural, none of Derek’s puppies have been in school today and Stiles has to admit he’s a bit worried. He doesn’t know what happened to Boyd and Erica after he’d had to leave them and Isaac didn’t look too great when he saw him last either.

 

And as to the top dog:

 

“Hey, have you spoken to Derek yet?” he asks Scott who looks at him as if he’d lost his mind.

 

“No, why should I?”

 

“Why should you?” Stiles repeats incredulously. “To apologise perhaps? To explain, to grovel? Words are your friends, Scotty, pissed off alphas aren’t!”

 

He remembers Danny and quickly adds: “Alpha players, that is, like in games!”

 

Danny just raises an eyebrow at him and goes back to eating without saying anything.

 

Scott still doesn’t get it.

 

“It was a good plan! It worked!”

 

Stiles sighs.

 

“Yes, Scott, it worked and that’s great, thanks for saving the day, seriously. But it would have worked just as well if you’d just told Derek of this plan and his involvement in it! Then he’d have been able to be a part of it willingly. This is why you don’t make plans without me! You were a dick and don’t even try to argue about it, just apologise!”

 

He sees Allison opening her mouth out of the corner of his eye and quickly turns to her, too. Might as well get it all off his chest in one go. Even if the school cafeteria with an oblivious Danny at their table might not be the best place for it.

 

“No, don’t say anything, Allison. You’ve certainly got your own apologies and groveling to make, so don’t even start. And I’m so sorry, and I feel you, really, literally, but you don’t know all the facts, so stop jumping to conclusions. Ask Scott what really happened.”

 

She’s white and Stiles doesn’t have to look at Scott to know the betrayed look that’s definitely directed his way right now. He’s feeling a bit sick because he potentially just alienated his friends for people who don’t like him and who he isn’t even sure he likes. But it had to be said nevertheless.

 

The table’s been quiet long enough that Stiles is just about to get up and eat his lunch on the bleachers or something when Jackson of all people speaks up. His voice is quiet, but firm.

 

“Stilinski’s right. McCall, being controlled against your will is no joke. It sucks, okay? And Allison, I don’t really know what’s going on with you and I’m sorry for that, but I do know what’s it like to not have all the facts so make sure you know the whole truth before you make any further decisions, alright?”

 

Allison’s still pale and there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes but she’s also nodding and no longer looking as though she’s about to kill a man, particularly Stiles.

 

Scott’s still looking a bit mulishly stubborn, but Stiles knows his best friend and he can tell that the cogs have started turning in his head and Stiles is already mentally preparing the talk on consent and bodily autonomy he’ll have to be having with Scott tonight. He doesn’t expect it to take much more. Scott’s not a bad guy, he’s the best guy actually; he just has a blind spot where Allison and Derek of all people are concerned.

 

But really, a minute ago he didn’t even think that he’d get the opportunity to have that talk with Scott and so he looks up at Jackson who’s already staring back, and smiles hesitantly, trying to express his thanks.

 

Jackson nods at him and for a brief moment, his lips quirk up in a smile.

Stiles attributes his stomach fluttering to nerves and hunger and digs into his lunch with a renewed appetite.

 

~*~

 

After school, Stiles is prepared to walk home again, but when he comes down the stairs with Scott, Jackson and Lydia are leaning against Jackson’s Porsche like something out of a very expensive porno.

 

Thankfully Scott distracts him from that frankly disturbing thought.

 

“Ooh, don’t keep your ride waiting!” He winks at Stiles for some reason and then adds more seriously: “I’ll come talk to you later, okay?”

 

Stiles smiles back at him.

 

“Sure thing, man. You know the door’s always open for you, right?”

 

It’s suddenly super important to make sure that Scott knows that Stiles still loves him, even if he’s not always agreeing with his choices. Scott again proves to be the best friend a guy could have by just smiling sunnily and drawing Stiles into a quick hug.

 

“I know, bro. Same here, now go!”

 

He shoves Stiles away from him and probably meant to be gentle but Scott’s sometimes still not aware of his own strength and Stiles goes tumbling down the last few steps.

 

He’s still somewhat on his feet, arms windmilling like crazy but the ground at the bottom of the stairs is rapidly coming closer and Stiles closes his eyes, preparing himself for an impact that’s a pretty fitting end to this weirdest of weird days.

 

But instead of hitting concrete, he hits solid muscle and when he opens his eyes again, he’s staring right at Jackson who must have moved with supernatural speed to catch him, and thinks:

 

“No,  _ this _ is the perfect ending for this day.”

 

~*~

 

They’re all quiet for the first couple of minutes of the car ride.

Stiles is still a bit shaken by what just happened and so he jumps when Lydia suddenly turns around in her seat to face him.

 

“I can talk to Allison, but you’ve got to stop leaving me in the dark.”

 

She stares at him expectantly and Stiles just blinks. That wasn’t what he expected her to say but now that he thinks about it, it does make sense. So he nods and says:

 

“I’ve got to talk to Scott tonight, but you can come around tomorrow if you want to? And I’ll tell you everything I know, I promise. And you, too,” he adds, turning towards Jackson because the poor guy probably doesn’t even know everything that happened to him, never mind everyone else.

 

Jackson nods and then asks, sounding hesitant and unsure, and really this is all messing with Stiles’ head so badly:

 

“Can I bring Danny? He already knows something’s up and I’d rather not lie to him anymore.”

 

Stiles hesitates because he should probably ask Scott and Derek about this, but fuck this, he doesn’t need their permission. And Danny on their side is definitely better than Danny after them and it’s not as though Stiles himself was particularly subtle at lunch today, so Jackson’s probably right about Danny already suspecting something.

 

His mind made up, he looks at Jackson and nods.

 

“Yeah, okay. It’s probably better anyway. Are you sure he won’t freak out though?”

 

Jackson’s looking at him in the rearview mirror and smiling again.

 

“No, Danny’s cool. Literally. I don’t think there’s a lot that can faze him and I think finally knowing what’s going on will be far more important to him than freaking out.”

 

They’ve made it to Stiles’ house in the meantime and Jackson stops at the curb, putting his car into park.

 

Turning in his seat to face Stiles, he asks: “How long’s your car at the shop?”

 

“I should be able to get it back on Wednesday,” Stiles answers slowly. He has a feeling he knows where this is going but he can’t really believe it, despite the events of today.

 

“Okay, then I’ll get you at half past tomorrow and on Wednesday. Don’t be late, Stilinski!”

 

“A wizard is never late, Whittemore,” Stiles answers, and his world is shaken to its roots again because just like this morning, Lydia is the one that gets his reference and laughs. She tries to play it down by rolling her eyes immediately afterwards but Stiles now knows that Lydia Martin is a secret nerd and no one can take that knowledge away from him again.

 

Again, Jackson twists around somehow and opens Stiles’ door for him, brushing against his leg and arm in the process.

 

“See you tomorrow, Stiles,” he says pointedly and Stiles just gets out of the car wordlessly.

 

If his legs are a bit unsteady then that can easily be explained by his almost fatal fall earlier. 

 

Nothing else.

 

~*~

The next morning, the blare of a car horn sounds just as Stiles is putting on his shoes. 

 

When he comes outside, Jackson is leaning against his car again, sunglasses hiding his eyes and his mouth curled up in a smirk. As Stiles slowly approaches him, Jackson pushes himself off the car and opens the door to the backseat with a flourish.

 

He doesn’t say anything and Stiles just slides into the car wordlessly as well. He doesn’t really trust his voice right now anyways.

 

“Good morning, Stiles,” Lydia says sweetly from the passenger seat.

 

Stiles feels himself blushing furiously for some reason, embarrassed as though she witnessed something she shouldn’t have, even though nothing has happened!

 

“Morning, Lydia,” he replies, voice cracking slightly.

 

This is all just messing with his head. 

 

No one’s expecting him to talk any more for the rest of the ride thankfully. Jackson’s concentrating on driving and Lydia’s reading some big tome that doesn’t seem to be written in English.

 

Stiles is just trying to figure out how he ended up here. He hasn’t found a satisfying answer by the time they arrive in the school parking lot.

 

This time, he jumps out of the car almost before it’s properly stopped, desperate to escape the car and its awkwardness.

 

“Thank you, bye!” He shouts over his shoulder and speed walks to where Scott is waiting for him - and apparently laughing at him.

 

Stiles delicately punches him in the side and mutters: “Shut up.”

 

His face still feels embarrassingly hot. Scott just grins and asks: “Is that how you’re going to greet me every morning from now on? Is the romance gone already?”

 

He flutters his lashes and Stiles shoves him away.

 

“No, really, shut up.”

 

He’s really glad that the thing with Derek hasn’t affected their friendship. Their talk yesterday wasn’t comfortable, but it was good, and more importantly, they are good again now. Scott promised to talk to both Derek and Allison and Stiles promised to keep kicking his ass if he messes up. That promise led to them playfully scuffling on Stiles’ bed until Scott had him pinned and wouldn’t stop tickling him until Stiles cried for mercy. 

 

They spent the rest of the night playing video games and eating junk food and just pretending that the supernatural had never entered their lives.

 

It was a good night all things considered.

 

~*~

 

When Stiles leaves school that afternoon he heads straight towards Jackson’s Porsche. There’s no point lying to himself. As if he’d walk home if he can snag a ride that hasn’t ended with him dead in a ditch yet and so probably won’t this time either.

 

What he doesn’t expect is Danny already sitting in the car next to what Stiles has started to think of as his seat. Stiles just stops and stares while Danny smiles and waves at him.

 

Jackson - who has opened the door for him again and really, Stiles is starting to get ideas - weird ideas - clears his throat pointedly behind him.

 

“Get in, Stilinski, it’s not that hard.”

 

Stiles turns around and woah, Jackson’s close. They are almost touching, just a thin sliver of air between their bodies, that would disappear if Stiles just swayed a bit forward…

 

He sways backwards quickly and would have gone tumbling into the car and probably Danny’s lap with his luck if Jackson’s hand hadn’t shot forward and grabbed his shoulder. 

 

“Careful, wouldn’t want you to hit your pretty head,” Jackson snarks and Stiles just takes a deep breath, because really?

 

He tries to ignore Jackson’s hand that is still a heavy weight on his shoulder and instead asks: “Why is Danny in the car? Is he going to yours before you are all coming over?”

 

Jackson just looks as though he’s a few cards short of a deck and says: “No, we’re all coming over immediately. Why should we wait?”

 

Stiles throws his arms up, and almost manages to hit Jackson in the progress - which doesn’t fill him with as much satisfaction as it should. 

 

“So I could prepare myself? My room? My dad? Who still thinks you have a restraining order against me? What happened to that by the way? I certainly hope this whole driving me to school isn’t a ploy to get me into jail! Oh my god, it is, isn’t it?”

 

Stiles is going to be sick. He’d really started to believe that Jackson was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but really, what heart? He should have known better.

 

But Jackson neither looks triumphant nor as though he’d been caught, he just looks confused and a bit apprehensive.

 

“What are you talking about? A ploy? Really? And I already got my dad to retract that restraining order against you and Scott and I’m sorry I ever got it but you kidnapped me! And now can we please not do this in the school car park?” he pleads, looking around the mostly deserted lot around them.

 

“Fine,” Stiles bites back and ducks into the car, muttering under his breath: “Just don’t expect any muffins when we get home.”

 

“You were going to bake muffins, Stiles?” Danny asks, smiling at him serenely as if he hadn’t just seen him and Jackson fight over restraining orders in the school parking lot.

 

He really isn’t easily fazed. Stiles suddenly finds himself wondering who’d freak out first, him or Deaton. He can just see it: The Match of the Century! Guaranteed to make you yawn!

 

“Well, I’m certainly not going to now,” he returns, sending a glare in Jackson’s direction who’s pointedly focussing on the road. 

 

“I hope you weren’t going to make banana muffins,” Lydia butts in. “I don’t like bananas. Carrots are fine though.”

 

“I’m not going to bake any muffins!” Stiles shout, completely done with these people. And then, because he just can’t help himself, he adds: “And if I did, it would obviously be chocolate muffins.”

 

Danny laughs and Lydia grins, but the reaction that Stiles zeroes in on is Jackson’s smile reflected in the rearview mirror. For some reason, it makes some of the knots loosen that his stomach has been tied up in since he thought he was being played with. 

 

~*~

 

When they are all settled in Stiles’ room, Lydia sitting on his desk chair, Danny on a chair that Stiles quickly dragged over from his dad’s room, and him and Jackson next to each other on Stiles’ bed, Stiles takes a deep breath, looks Danny straight in the eyes and says:

 

“Jackson’s a werewolf.”

 

Lydia slaps a hand across her eyes, Jackson groans loudly next to him and Danny just raises an eyebrow.

 

“What?” Stiles demands. “I didn’t exactly have time to prepare, did I?” he asks, glaring pointedly at Jackson. 

 

“That’s it?” Danny asks and really, that’s not the proper way to react to that revelation, Danny is the worst.

 

“What you are just going to trust me? No demanding proof, to see him transform or something?” Stiles asks, honestly confused by Danny’s easy acceptance.

 

Danny just shrugs.

 

“Yeah, transforming would be cool, unless that means immediate bloodshed of course. But I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? All the animal attacks, shit happening on the full moon and the frankly disturbing amount of scratching throughout school. Scott’s one, too, isn’t he?”

 

Stiles blinks and then leans forward to grab Danny’s hand.

 

“Danny, my boy, remind me to never get on your bad side. Yeah, Scott’s one, too. And Erica, Isaac, and Boyd. Oh and my cousin Miguel is actually Derek Hale and he’s a werewolf as well, his whole family were werewolves. Oh and his uncle was dead and now isn’t anymore, and he was insane, and now - no one really knows.”

 

Danny stares at him, finally looking at least a bit confused.

 

“I know ‘Miguel’ isn’t your cousin, I do watch the news, you know? But perhaps you should start at the beginning?”

 

“I’ll get us something to drink,” Jackson says, getting up suddenly.

 

Stiles just nods distractedly and tries to figure out where to start. With him and Scott going into the woods? Or with Peter killing Laura? Or perhaps with Kate and the Hale fire? He has a feeling he is still missing a few facts there, but that is what kicked this whole mess off in a way so that’s probably the best starting point. 

 

He’s just opening his mouth to begin what’s probably going to be a long monologue when he realises that Jackson is not Scott and has no idea where they keep their drinks and glasses and everything.

 

“Hang on a minute, I’ll just quickly go and help Jackson actually find the stuff, and then I’ll tell you all at the same time. He doesn’t really know everything yet, either.”

 

When he comes down the stairs, he’s surprised to hear several voices in their kitchen. A quick glance out the door shows that his dad must have arrived without him noticing. 

 

And that means that Jackson and his dad are alone in there. Stiles hurries to the kitchen to fix whatever’s bound to be going on there, but Jackson’s voice stops him just in front of the slightly ajar door.

 

“I just wanted to apologise for the way me and my father reacted to Stiles and Scott playing a prank. I completely overreacted, I realise that now. I’ve already gotten my father to retract the restraining order against Stiles and Scott. Stiles and I have settled our differences and he’s helping me figure out a few things in my life and I am very grateful for that. I am also deeply sorry that my actions led to the loss of your job, sir, but in light of the recent events, my father has already passed on his recommendation that you should be reinstalled as Sheriff. I really am very sorry, ir, and I hope you can accept my apologies.”

 

Stiles’ mouth is hanging open in surprise. He certainly didn’t expect that. And Jackson even sounded sincere! They might not be best friends like Scott and Stiles but Stiles has known Jackson long enough that he can tell when he’s just putting on a front to get someone on his side and when he is actually being sincere. And this was definitely the truth as far as Jackson was concerned.

 

His dad is sounding far too weary and tired for Stiles liking, and he feels the familiar cramp of guilt that hasn’t left him since he dragged Scott into the woods at night to find a body.

 

“Thank you, Jackson. I am glad you and Stiles have settled your differences, and that you are realising the consequences your actions have had. Don’t think I’m not aware that you - all of you - are hiding something though. I am going to find out what that is eventually, but I hope you’ll feel able to tell me yourself before it comes to that.”

 

Steps are coming closer to the kitchen door and Stiles jumps back, trying to look completely innocent and as though he just came down the stairs and didn’t eavesdrop on anyone. By the way his dad’s eyebrows rise when he spots Stiles, it doesn’t quite work.

 

“Hello, son,” his dad says, voice even.

 

“Hi, dad!” Stiles replies, voice far too high to be casual. “So Jackson, Lydia, and Danny came around for - a thing, that’s okay, right? I’m completely restraining order free, a clean slate again!”

 

“See that it stays that way,” his dad warns him, but he also doesn’t ask any further questions and rubs a hand over Stiles’ head as he walks past him, so Stiles does count this encounter as a win. They will have to have a very long talk eventually, and his dad is not going to be happy with him, but for now it finally feels as though things are looking up with them again rather than going downhill every single day. 

 

And he has Jackson to thank for that at least in part. Who would have guessed? Certainly not Stiles.

 

~*~

 

Wednesday starts normal enough. 

 

Well, as much as Jackson driving Stiles to school is normal. 

 

But he does, Lydia reading a new thick tome in the passenger seat already. This time it is in English, but certainly not Present Day English. 

 

School is uneventful, classes, lunch, Harris being a dick, lacrosse practice. Stiles leaves the locker room together with Scott, quickly saying goodbye to him, and Jackson, who already left with Danny earlier, waits for him at his car.

 

This time though, he doesn’t open the door for Stiles. It’s not a big deal, Stiles is glad even, it’s not like he’s being  _ wooed  _ by Jackson or something, so that little sting in his breath is probably from not stretching properly before practice, certainly not anything like disappointment. 

 

However, when Stiles reaches out to open the door to the backseat, Jackson slides over a bit which puts him right into Stiles’ space and prevents Stiles from opening the door.

 

“You get to sit with the big boys today, Stilinski,” he says, eyes half-lidded, and Stiles honestly hasn’t got the faintest clue what he’s talking about. His face must communicate that quite clearly because Jackson rolls his eyes and straightens from his slouch, brushing up against Stiles’ chest in the progress.

 

“Lydia’s gone home already; the passenger seat is free. Unless you like taking the back?” he asks, eyes glinting and Stiles quickly shakes his head and replies: “No, no, I prefer the front.”

 

Jackson’s smirk grows and he’s biting his lip as if he’s holding back a laugh or something. Stiles just ignores him and walks around the car before he changes his mind and forces him to sit in the backseat after all. 

 

They’ve just made it out of the parking lot when Stiles suddenly sits up straight, because oh my god.

 

“Did you just make a sex joke?”, he demands, voice rising in outrage. “A buttsex joke?”

 

And Jackson just loses it. He actually has to pull over, he’s laughing so hard. When he doesn’t show any signs of stopping, Stiles lightly punches him in the side.

 

“Alright, alright, you did a funny, now shut up and drive, my baby’s waiting for me.”

 

Jackson drags in a few deep breaths in between giggles before he’s calmed down enough again to be able to drive. Just before he pulls back into the traffic, he turns to face Stiles and says, voice low and serious: 

 

“Don’t worry, I like being in the back.”

 

Stiles knows he’s gaping, but he just can’t stop, and it takes him far too long to put together a response, even one as weak as: 

 

“Oh shut up, you dick.”

 

And oh no, bad choice of words, Stilinski. Seriously bad choice of words. Because now he has that visual in his head again and with their current topic of conversation his brain is starting to make calculations, and Stiles just needs a distraction ASAP.

 

“So how’s Lydia?” he asks desperately, voice high and reedy.

 

“She’s fine, why? You just saw her this morning.” Jackson answers after a pause, sounding gruff and unwilling to disclose anything else, and no wonder, Stiles just asked after his girlfriend who he has a very public crush on. Though he hasn’t been so sure about his feelings lately anymore.

 

Jackson does keep going though. 

 

“What’s this about, Stilinski? I thought you stopped panting after her finally.” He’s not sounding mad so much as disappointed, or perhaps more like his anger is a front to hide his disappointment and since when does Stiles pay so much attention to the layers of Jackson Whittemore? 

 

“No! No, nothing like that, I was just wondering!” 

 

And since when does he feel the need to reassure him? 

 

“Fine.”

 

Jackson’s reply isn’t particularly reassuring though, and Stiles sinks deeper into his seat, feeling disheartened, and disappointed, and a whole lot of feelings more that start with dis- and not having the faintest clue why.

 

~*~

 

The rest of the car ride is more than awkward, neither of them says another word and the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Or a set of claws, Stiles thinks semi-hysterically.

 

So when Jackson pulls up in front of his house, Stiles almost falls out of the car in his hurry to get out. He doesn’t even say anything, he just grabs his bag and makes his escape. But when he’s trying to find his keys in the mess that is his backpack, he suddenly feels a presence looming behind him and when he turns around, Jackson’s standing in front of him, leaning into his personal space. Stiles leans backwards but then the door’s already there, and although Jackson’s a bit shorter than him, he somehow manages to tower over Stiles. Behind him, his car is sort of haphazardly parked in their driveway, both front doors opened wide, as though Jackson was in as much of a hurry as Stiles to get out of the car.

 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles squeaks, there’s no other way to say it. “I’m not going after Lydia, I promise! I don’t even want to!” he adds and surprises himself because it actually feels true, doesn’t feel like a lie to placate Jackson. 

 

Jackson seems to feel that, too, because he takes a step back, and his voice sounds perfectly pleasant again when he says: “I was just going to ask how you were going to get to the shop later, but that’s good to know.”

 

“Oh,” that’s not what Stiles had expected. “I was just going to walk over or get my dad to drive me if he’s home in time.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Jackson turns around and walks back to his car and Stiles wants to throw his shoe after him and scream “What the hell was that, you butthead?!” because, really, what was that about?

 

But Jackson doesn’t get into his car and drive away like Stiles expects him to, he just gets his stuff and closes the doors, and then strides back up to Stiles.

 

“I’m hungry. So how about those muffins today?”

 

And Stiles runs with wolves, runs away from wolves sometimes, but Jackson Whittemore driving him around of his own free will and asking him to bake muffins has to be strangest thing that has ever happened to him. 

 

So there’s obviously nothing else to say but: 

 

“I’ll see if we’ve got everything I need at home, but first you need to park your car properly or my dad’s going to give you a ticket. Don’t think he won’t !”

 

~*~

 

Stiles feels like a broken record, his mind full of thoughts of how weird this is, how this is the strangest thing that has ever happened to him, no this, no  _ this _ !

 

But baking chocolate muffins in his kitchen with Jackson? And having fun?

 

Stiles refuses to imagine any situation that could be any weirder. This is it, the utmost limit of what his very active imagination can think up, the pinnacle of outlandish, unbelievable, unthinkable, from now on he’ll be a changed person, jaded and blasé, life holds no more surprises for him because Jackson Whittemore has stood in his kitchen with chocolate on his nose and laughed about it and then smeared chocolate on Stiles’ cheek and Stiles laughed about it and then they laughed together and it was just pure, light-hearted fun. And chocolate.

 

All melodrama aside - though Stiles does maintain that this situation deserves all the melodrama - it’s just fun. No werewolves, no danger, no death, just baking, and being friends, and having fun.

 

Jackson is completely useless at baking of course, he hasn’t heard of half the equipment Stiles uses but still feels qualified to point out that Stiles’ measurements aren’t perfectly exact. Stiles is very proud of his own patience when he doesn’t explode at the third complaint, but just explains: “Most baking isn’t a super exact science; it’s more important that the proportions fit than that it’s all precisely the amount it says in the recipe.”

 

“Is that why stuff keeps exploding for you in Chemistry?” Jackson asks cheekily - and that’s how he ends up with chocolate in his face. 

 

He makes a show of licking it away, all lascivious eyebrows and dancing tongue, and Stiles feels his cheeks heating up. He doesn’t have time to think about that or the weird cramping in his stomach for too long though because Jackson has just smeared chocolate across his cheek as well and oh, it’s on!

 

In the end they only manage to fill half a muffin mold, the rest of the ingredients spread across the kitchen and themselves but Stiles’ stomach hurts from laughing and Jackson has laugh lines in his face now and this afternoon was something Stiles hadn’t realised he’d needed until he’d gotten it.

 

It’s even worth his dad rolling his eyes at them when he comes home and forces them to clean up everything immediately, including themselves. 

 

Their clothes are a lost case though, so Stiles gets the pleasure of seeing Jackson in one of his graphic tees. 

 

~*~

 

Jackson’s still wearing Stiles’ shirt when they’re driving to the car shop that has been taking care of his baby the last couple of days. He has it hidden under his jacket now but Stiles knows it’s there and that’s enough. 

 

He finds himself wondering how well Jackson’s werewolf nose is developed yet, and if he can still smell Stiles on the shirt, if their scents are mixing now. Stiles is very glad when they pull into the shop’s parking lot before he blurts out any of those questions.

 

He expects Jackson to wait for him to get out and then drive away but Jackson surprises him again when he parks neatly and gets out along with him.

 

“Oh, look there’s your Jeep,” Jackson says, pointing towards it standing in a corner. “Better go and look it over; I’ll just go ahead and make sure they don’t rip you off.”

 

He doesn’t give Stiles a chance to reply and just heads into the main shop without looking back. Stiles almost follows him because he likes the owner, she has been taking good care of his baby for years and he doesn’t want her to be scared off by Jackson being what - protective?

 

But then he goes to say hello to his Jeep first because she’s been alone here all this time and he has to make sure that she’s all good again after her encounter with evil lizard Jackson. She seems to be fine, Stiles really can’t judge what’s going on inside her, but her outside has definitely been repaired and she’s been cleaned as well, he certainly couldn’t see his own reflection in her when he brought her here. With one last pat, he finally heads towards the office, a bit apprehensive as to what kind of mischief Jackson has been up to in there in the meantime. 

 

When he comes in, everything seems to be fine though, Janet is grinning and not looking the slightest bit offended, and Jackson seems to be blushing? His ears are red at least, and there are some pink splotches on his face when he turns towards Stiles and pompously announces: “There seem to be no issues, so my work here is done.”

 

Then he quickly disappears through the doors and drives away without looking back. Stiles stares after him, trying to figure out what that was about, and eventually just shrugs it off. If this week has told him anything, it’s that he doesn’t get how Jackson’s mind works.

 

“Sorry, I hope he didn’t bother you,” he turns back towards Janet, who is still grinning widely. “How was she? She looks amazing, thank you so much! What does that cost me?”

 

Janet smiles at him reassuringly. 

 

“She’s fine, don’t worry, your old lady still has a couple of years to go if you stop driving into trash cans! And it doesn’t cost you anything, it’s all covered by your insurance luckily.”

 

She winks at him and Stiles feels his eyebrows draw together in confusion because that doesn’t make sense.

 

“My insurance? But that can’t be, my insurance doesn’t cover anything, really? And certainly not if I wreck my own car!”

 

Janet winks again and starts saying: “Oh, no, you have a special insurance that, oh for God’s sake, I told him that that was a stupid cover.” She leans over the counter and conspiratorially says: “It wasn’t your insurance, it was the nice guy you came here with, he paid for everything and tried to make me keep it a secret. Though I don’t get why, it’s super cute!”

 

Stiles blinks, trying to process that. “So he just paid for it? All of it?” he asks, and adds: “How much was it?” already trying to figure out how to pay Jackson back.

 

“Oh yes, every last cent!” Janet says, sounding far too excited about this entire situation. “Okay, I told you that he paid it, but I’m not going to tell you how much because you’re just going to try to pay him back, and he wanted to pay for this, so just accept it! You’ve got to find another way to thank him!”

 

And here she winks again and Stiles quickly makes his escape before she starts giving him tips how to thank Jackson. 

 

It’s all he can think about on the drive home though. How can he thank Jackson for doing that? Or get him to let Stiles pay for it after all?

 

And why did he pay for it in the first place?

 

~*~

 

Stiles doesn’t tell anyone about Jackson paying for the repairs at first.

 

He tells his dad that it was less expensive than he’d thought and that he’s fine paying for it himself. When Scott asks, he tells him the same, glad that Scott hasn’t got that whole werewolf lie detector thing figured out completely yet. It’s not a complete lie of course, but it’s certainly not the whole truth either. And Stiles doesn’t know how precise that werewolf shtick is - if it’s enough to tell half-truths instead of full out lying. That’s another point on the list of things Stiles wants to ask Derek or figure out by trial and error and Scott.

 

For all of Scott’s “I’m a strong, independent omega who don’t need no alpha” act, Stiles is pretty sure he’d rather talk to Derek than find the answer to the question “how fast is werewolf healing really? If regrowing a limb is out of the question, how about regrowing a finger? Or a toe?” through extensive testing on himself.

 

Stiles has a long list of questions. And every answer just throws up more questions. Peter alone fills an entire chapter.

 

The questions concerning Jackson have mostly been answered - most importantly the “how do we stop him?” one. But there are still a few left open, including the one Stiles personally considers most pressing right now: “Why did you pay for my car?”

 

Stiles is very proud of himself when that isn’t the first thing he blurts out when he finally sees Jackson on Thursday. He has to wait until lunch period to talk to him, and it’s strange how that feels like a long time not to see Jackson when he’d have gladly avoided him entirely just a couple of weeks ago.

 

But this way, he has had the entire morning to figure out how to approach this more subtly, which is tapping Jackson on the shoulder in the line to get lunch and asking:

 

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Jackson?”

 

Jackson turns around and unnecessarily raises an eyebrow at the question. Then he smirks and rubs a hand over Stiles’ head.

  
“Your hair looks like a dead hedgehog,” he informs Stiles cheerfully and turns back around.

 

Stiles self-consciously smoothes over his hair. It really has grown longer than he’d realised; he hasn’t had the time to get his customary buzz cut lately.

 

But no, wait, that’s not important right now.

 

Stiles leans forward and hisses into Jackson’s ear: 

 

“I’m talking about vehicles, transportation, reimbursement, insurances, that ring a bell?”

 

Jackson looks around them and finally over to where Scott is staring at them, oops, his face the picture of confusion. Then he grabs Stiles by the arm and tugs him out of the cafeteria.

 

“But what about lunch?” Stiles asks plaintively, as he’s steered through the empty school corridors.

  
Jackson bites back: “You should have thought about that before you started this now!”

 

They’re outside now, near the bleachers and hopefully out of even Scott’s super hearing.

 

“So she told you, huh?” Jackson asks, sounding more resigned than angry. “That doesn’t change anything though. I paid for it and don’t even try to pay me back; I’m not going to take it.”

 

“I wouldn’t even know how much to pay you; Janet refused to tell me that at least,” Stiles grumbles. “But what I really don’t get is why you did it in the first place? Why did you pay for the repairs on my car?”

 

Jackson doesn’t say anything for a moment but then it almost seems to break out of him.

 

“Because it’s my fault, okay? And this, money, is something I can actually do to make up for it. It’s the only thing I can make up for.”

 

Stiles swallows. He really should have realised this. It makes a really sad, sort of depressing kind of sense and he should have thought of it. He takes a deep breath and tries to bring his thoughts into some kind of order that will actually help Jackson.

  
To start with, he grabs Jackson’s wrist and starts pulling him closer towards the bleachers. Jackson doesn’t resist and he goes down willingly when Stiles tugs him down to sit next to him on the lowest row of the seats.

 

“Okay, first of all, this was not your fault, none of this shit fest was, okay?” At some point, he ended up holding Jackson’s hand instead of his wrist and so he squeezes it gently until Jackson looks at him.

 

“I mean it. Yeah, you asked to be bitten, and probably badgered Derek until he gave in, but you didn’t know this was going to happen, no one did, not even Derek! Like I think his worst case scenario - or perhaps best case, I’m not actually sure - was the bite not taking and you simply dying! Aaand, that was not particularly reassuring, sorry.”

 

But Jackson squeezes his hand, so he can’t be too offended. And yes, Jesus, they’re still holding hands and at some point in the future, Stiles will have to have a small freak out about that but for now he’ll have to figure out how to convince Jackson that the evil part of evil lizard Jackson didn’t come from him, just the lizard part.

 

And that thought right there is a prime example why Stiles is not at all qualified for this conversation. But apparently he’s the only one available, so he’ll have to try his best.

 

After another deep breath he continues.

 

“The ones at fault here, the ones that should be feeling guilty - but probably don’t because they’re dead and hopefully dead and wouldn’t even if they weren’t because they were complete psychopaths, aaanyways - the ones in the wrong here are Matt and Gerard, not you. You were a victim, a weapon that was used - against your will! Because as much as I believe in your dickishness I don’t believe you actually want to murder anyone.”

 

If Jackson’s snort at that sounds a bit wet and choked, Stiles doesn’t comment on it and does him the favour of not looking at him. He focuses on their still intertwined fingers instead for the next part.

 

“But if you still want to do something to help, I can help you there if you want me to? Like I know for sure that there’s a fund for the relatives of officers who died in the line of duty which you could make a donation to, anonymously or not. Money might not be able to buy happiness but it certainly won’t hurt here. And if you want to get involved more personally, well, I know - knew them all,” he corrects himself, and has to swallow hard, “and there’s like a thousand different things we could do, someone always needs babysitting, I know for sure that Susan’s husband always has to work later than the kindergarten is open, or we could organise some sort of lacrosse event, for charity, or just for the kids to get them out of the house for a day. But like there’s some small or big thing that you could personally do to help any of them, if that’s what you want to do. You don’t have to! I was just thinking that if you’re feeling guilty - even though it’s not your fault! - that actually doing something might help!”

 

Stiles decides to shut up now before this turns completely into a nervous ramble.

 

Jackson is silent for long, not quite comfortable moments, but he’s still holding Stiles hand so that has to be a good sign, right? Stiles just grips Jackson’s hand a bit tighter and waits.

 

Only when the bell to signal the end of the lunch period has rung does Jackson move again. He sits up straight and asks:

 

“Can I get back to you about the personal stuff? But I’d like the numbers of that fund if you have them.”

 

“Sure thing,” Stiles replies brightly, probably a bit too brightly for their topic of conversation but his pep talk slash reassurement thingie seems to have worked somewhat!

 

At least he didn’t get his head bitten off.

 

There are students coming towards them who probably have PE next period so they should start moving to their next class as well. Stiles keeps sitting though for now. He doesn’t want to just stand up and leave if Jackson’s not ready yet, and, well, skipping chemistry never sounds like a bad idea.

 

Until Harris gives him detention, that is.

 

But Jackson drags in a deep breath and then stands up, pulling Stiles up with him by their still joined hands. They stand there for a moment, facing each other and not saying anything until Jackson squeezes his hand and quietly says:   
  
“Thank you, Stiles.”

 

After one last squeezes, he drops Stiles’ hand and walks back towards the school.

 

Stiles is only a few steps behind him but of course he’s the one Harris gives detention to. But for some reason neither that nor his growling stomach that never got lunch bother him today.

 

~*~

 

Something has changed between them after that talk.

 

Obviously something had changed even before that, Stiles would have called anyone insane who’d have told him Jackson Whittemore would drive him to school a few months, even weeks ago.

 

But that can be explained by Jackson feeling guilty.

 

Jackson coming to pick him up in the morning even though Stiles’ Jeep works perfectly fine again just because he wants to hang out with Stiles in the afternoon and doesn’t know how to say so?

 

That’s just Jackson being weird and spoiled and expecting everything to go his way.

 

It’s fun hanging out with Jackson though, Stiles would almost call them friends, if not for the way Jackson acts in school. 

 

He still tackles Stiles the most during Lacrosse practice, even when they are just supposed to run laps. Like Stiles will be scrambling to catch up with the rest, because even the workout that running around with wolves - literally - is doesn’t actually help him keep up with them. Or Danny. But Danny doesn’t count, Danny’s a god amongst men in all regards. But so Stiles is minding his own, panting-for-breath business and Jackson comes up behind him and tackles him onto the ground. Or in one memorable instance picks him up and carries him past the entire Lacrosse team to the finish line. 

 

Isaac and Scott didn’t even make it to the finish line they were laughing so hard. The dicks.

 

Between classes, it’s even worse. Stiles gets shoved against a locker at least once a day, Jackson pressed close against him, their noses almost touching, Jackson’s hand wrapped around Stiles’ head. And then Jackson always says something ridiculous like “Careful, Stilinski, wouldn’t want you to hurt your pretty little head,” winks, and leaves. Stiles always has to keep leaning against the locker for a couple more minutes to catch his breath.

 

If he’s lucky, no one’s around to witness his humiliation. But if his friends are there, does he get any help, pity even? No, he gets laughed at.

 

Lydia always rolls her eyes and mutters “boys” under her breath. Allison and Danny just share dimpled smiles. And Stiles refuses to even acknowledge Scott’s completely ridiculous comments about pigtails that have no relation to his situation in any way. 

 

Lunch period is usually uneventful in comparison. They are all regularly sharing a table now, including Isaac who was back in school after a week. There’s been no sign of Erica or Boyd and when Stiles carefully asks about them, Isaac admits that Derek’s afraid they left to find another pack. Stiles remembers them, beaten and bloody in Allison’s cellar, and it makes sense, of course it does, but he still can’t quite believe it. He can’t think of another explanation for their continued absence though, so he keeps silent for now.

 

But yeah, lunch period. Is actually when Stiles feels most uncomfortable of the whole school day. Scott and Allison are slowly working their way towards being  _ ScottandAllison _ again, and that involves a lot of soulful staring and blushing. And not a lot of talking to Stiles.

 

Danny seems to have realised that Isaac has the most adorable curls known to mankind and is going full dimple at him. It’s both incredibly adorable and completely hilarious how Isaac is obviously both flattered and flustered and generally does not know how to deal with the full brunt of Danny’s attention. But that doesn’t involve a whole lot of talking to Stiles either.

 

And then there’s Jackson and Lydia. Gloriously reunited power couple in domestic bliss. It’s like watching a carefully choreographed dance, he pulls out her chair, she pours their drinks, they switch out the foods they don’t like and neither talks to Stiles.

 

So yeah, lunch isn’t a whole lot of fun for Stiles. He morosely pushes his food around on his plate. No one’s talking to him and no one’s eating his cauliflower either. It’s just not fair.

 

Stiles would never admit it, but he might be pouting. 

 

The scraping sound of a chair being pushed backwards makes him look up from his lunch, just in time to see Lydia press a kiss to Jackson’s cheek before striding away. Stiles would attribute the painful lurch of his stomach to the cafeteria food but he doesn’t want to make a habit out of lying to himself. Thus he has to admit, at least to himself, that it’s jealousy that’s coursing through him. 

 

It’s a familiar feeling, particularly when watching Lydia and Jackson being  _ Lydia and Jackson _ but what’s new is just who exactly Stiles is feeling jealous of. 

 

~*~

 

_ I, Stiles Stilinski, have a crush on Jackson Whittemore. _

 

Stiles stares at the piece of paper that sits innocently on his desk. He’d thought writing it down would make - okay, he doesn’t know what he thought writing it down would achieve. All it’s done is make it feel more real.

 

Because now he can look at it, black on white, and while there’s a whole lot of “what the hell” going on in his head, he never once thinks “this is wrong.”

 

With a groan of frustration, Stiles balls up the paper and throws it into his bin. He uses so much force though that the wad of paper bounces right back out again and rolls under his bed,

 

Stiles lets his head thump down on his desk. First Lydia and now Jackson? Apparently he has a “people who’d never give him the time of day” kink and isn’t that just awesome?

 

He tries good old denial next, putting all thoughts of Jackson and crushes and kisses from his mind, concentrating on his homework instead. It even works. Sort of. Only twice is he distracted by thoughts of how all of the tackling and shoving into lockers could end in kisses.

 

Okay, and when he starts on his chemistry homework, all he can think about is what might have happened if Harris had given Jackson detention as well, and then left them alone in the classroom. Soon enough there’s a veritable porno playing in his mind which only stops when Stiles’ phone chimes with a new message.

 

It’s from Jackson of all people of course, telling Stiles that he’s going to pick him up in the morning and that he’d better bring his swimming trunks, or else. Stiles’ head is instantly full of images of too-tight speedos or even skinny dipping - and really, those are the innocent thoughts.

 

Stiles slams his chemistry book shut and firmly decides that he’s going to go to bed now and fall asleep immediately and not dream of anything. It obviously doesn’t work. Instead, he lies awake, counting sheep that turn into wolves and then kanimas and that reminds Stiles of the wad of paper still lying under his bed that confesses his crush to everyone who’d happen to read it. 

 

And that’s how Stiles ends up crawling under his bed in the middle of the night, the light from his phone mercilessly illuminating all the dust and dirt that has gathered there.

 

The paper has of course rolled far enough that Stiles can’t reach it even with his arms stretched out as far as possible. Logically, this should mean that the probability of anyone else accidentally discovering it and then also being able to reach it is very, very low, and really, who would even go looking for it in the first place? 

  
But Stiles isn’t exactly thinking logically right now and just the chance of anyone, of  _ Jackson _ discovering that piece of paper and what’s written on it is enough to make Stiles rob forward on his belly until his head and shoulders are under the bed as well and the dust he has stirred up makes him sneeze violently. But he’s also finally able to grab the balled up paper. Stiles lets out a triumphant noise as he closes his fist around it.

 

Robbing backwards is more difficult than robbing forwards for some reason but Stiles manages to get out from under his bed again, thankfully without getting stuck halfway. That would have been the icing on the cake. 

 

This time he makes sure to destroy the damning evidence properly. He rips the paper into little shreds and flushes them down the toilet. 

 

When he sees his reflection in the mirror afterwards, Stiles has to admit that he looks a bit like a madman, hair sticking up wildly and covered in dust and quite a few other things that he doesn’t even want to identify. So he quickly jumps into the shower, glad that his dad has the night shift and can’t ask any uncomfortable questions that Stiles wouldn’t know how to answer. 

 

The hot shower at least has the added benefit of relaxing him and when Stiles gets back into his bed he falls asleep pretty much immediately.

 

If he dreams about anything or anyone that night, he can’t recall it in the morning.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Stiles is the very picture of calm. He’s got his swimming trunks in his backpack, a very respectable pair of blue swim shorts, no speedo or anything. He’s got his feelings neatly put away in a little box labeled “STAY AWAY”. Stiles is cool as a cucumber.

 

Stiles is a blushing mess when Jackson arrives.

 

He can feel his face flaming and it only grows hotter when Jackson pushes up his sunglasses and asks if Stiles is okay.

 

Stiles opens his mouth, realises that he has no answer, closes his mouth, opens it again because he also realises that he has to say something, takes a deep breath and starts coughing violently when his spit goes down the wrong pipe.

 

Jackson’s eyebrows shoot up but when it becomes clear that Stiles will be alright he shakes his head and laughs.

 

“Smooth, Stilinski.”

  
Stiles takes a careful breath and rasps: “Shut up, Jackson.”

 

Jackson zips his mouth exaggeratedly shut but he doesn’t even bother trying to hide his grin, so Stiles rolls his eyes and gently shoves him when he walks past him to the car. Jackson hurries past Stiles and opens the car door for him with an exaggerated bow. Stiles’ blush, which had been receding somewhat, flares up brightly again.

 

“Thanks,” he mutters, and if his voice is a little hoarse then that’s just because of his coughing fit earlier.

 

~*~

 

The school day passes uneventfully and by the time Jackson is driving them towards the community pool, Stiles’ face has almost gotten back to its natural colouring.

 

Everything’s fine until they get to the actual pool. They get changed together and Stiles does not sneak a peek - it’s not as if he needs to anyways. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to though - Stiles firmly packs that thought away under “realisations I’m going to freak out about later.” He pulls on his pair of very respectable swimming trunks and follows Jackson out of the changing room - Jackson, who is wearing a pair of very much not respectable, one might even call them indecent, speedos. 

 

Stiles pulls his eyes up from where the speedos hug Jackson’s ass all nice and tight and fixes them on Jackson’s shoulder blades instead, which isn’t actually all that much better. There’s droplets of water from the shower that they just took running down Jackson’s back, dragging Stiles’ eyes down again with them.

 

But apart from that issue, Stiles is fine, dandy even, looking forward to perhaps dunking Jackson, and just to swimming for the first time in ages. Seriously, when was the last time he went swimming?

 

Stiles puts his first foot in the water and he suddenly remembers the last time he was in a pool. And he remembers the ache in his shoulders, and the way his legs refused to move anymore, and the relief he felt when he let Derek go, and the guilt and the terror, too. He sees Derek floating underwater, not moving of his own accord, looking peaceful almost, like the pictures of Matt that his dad didn’t hide well enough.

 

“Stiles? Stiles! What’s wrong? How can I help?”

 

Jackson’s voice sounds faint, and somewhat distorted, as if it’s coming from far away - or as if Stiles’ head is submerged under water. 

 

The thought makes Stiles’ already too fast breath catch in his throat and it’s with a curious sort of detachment that he realises that he’s having a panic attack right now. Jackson is still speaking, but Stiles doesn’t understand a word. His jaw clenched so tightly that it hurts, Stiles presses out “Shut up,” and tries to focus on slowing down his breathing. It doesn’t work though, his own heartbeat hammering much too loud and too fast in his ears.

 

Stiles tries to remember all the little tricks his therapist taught him back when he first got panic attacks after his mom but all he remembers are Scott’s eyes, wide and frightened and determined. And he remembers his hand on Scott’s chest, Scott’s heart beating strongly, strong enough to overpower the flutter of Stiles’ own. 

 

So Stiles reaches out and presses his hand to Jackson’s chest, trying to feel his heartbeat. At first there’s nothing, just Stiles’ heart thundering in his ears, interrupted in too short intervals by his gasping breaths, but then there it is, faint but steady, Jackson’s heartbeat. Stiles grabs on to it - figuratively, though his fingers might curl a bit too, and the realisation that he’s now basically groping Jackson is making Stiles laugh helplessly, only it comes out as more of a sound that a dying walrus might make. It also makes Jackson start asking questions again, so Stiles stops laughing after two more dying walrus noises.

 

It takes a while, because, really, pressing a hand to someone’s chest isn’t the best way to hear their heartbeat, but slowly Stiles’ own heart calms down. At least it’s no longer trying to throw a techno party in Stiles’ chest with way more beats per minute than healthy. His breath comes easier now, too, and when he finally has enough air in his lungs again, he takes a deep breath and says: “Oh fucking hell.”

 

That startles a snort of laughter out of Jackson that’s possibly less dignified than any other sound that Stiles has ever heard him make. It gives Stiles enough confidence to open his eyes and look around them. He’s relieved to see that it’s just him and Jackson, no cluster of people surrounding them. There’s a couple of old ladies in the pool that keep looking at them but other than that no one seems to have noticed him freaking out at chlorine water, or at least no one seems to care. 

 

Jackson clears his throat and Stiles finally looks at him properly. He’s white as a sheet, his eyes huge and scared. Stiles sighs: 

 

“I’m alright, Jackson,” quickly amending, “or I will be, anyways.”

 

When Jackson still doesn’t look convinced, Stiles sighs again and asks: 

 

“Look, can we just get out of here, please?”

 

Just because they’ve been left alone this far doesn’t mean this won’t change at any time. Stiles would just get up himself but he’s still jittery and light-headed and he really doesn’t want to add fainting to the list of embarrassing things he has done today. Thankfully Jackson seems to have had a similar thought because he stands up first and offers Stiles a hand up. Then he hovers close to Stiles’ side all the way back to the changing rooms. 

 

Jackson looks as though he’s contemplating helping Stiles change and that’s just more than Stiles can handle right now, so he firmly takes a step aside and says:    
  
“How about we get changed and then grab a bite to eat? I could really use some food right now.”

 

He’s actually feeling a little bit queasy and eating is the last thing he wants to do, but he knows that he’ll feel better after some food.

 

Jackson jumps on the idea, obviously glad that there’s something he can do and that’s how Stiles ends up sitting in Jackson’s Porsche eating curly-fries. Stiles had wanted to sit on the hood but Jackson’s scandalised face made it pretty clear that that wasn’t an option. So they just sit in the car with the doors wide open and eat and talk. They keep it light-hearted at first, consciously avoiding the reason why they are even here. 

 

Eventually though, Jackson awkwardly broaches the subject. No, really, he doesn’t even try to phrase it carefully; he just turns towards Stiles and asks: 

 

“So what was that? At the pool, I mean?”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and says:   
  
“That was a panic attack, Jackson. You’ve seen me have them before, remember? After my mum?”

 

He’s surprisingly calm; he doesn’t even feel embarrassed. It’s warm in the car, and his belly is full of curly fries, and his toes are sort of numb and he might still freak out about having a panic attack for the first time in years, in front of Jackson of all people, but for now he’s relaxed enough to have this conversation, so he decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

Jackson clears his throat awkwardly, and, not looking at Stiles, asks:

 

“The panic attack, why, I mean, was it because of me?”

 

Stiles starts.

 

“What? Jackson, no.”

 

He swallows and tries to sort his - frankly still pretty jumbled - thoughts. Jackson still doesn’t look at him and Stiles quickly looks away from him as well.

 

“I mean, it was just, the water, you know? And not just the pool, with Derek and err, things.” 

 

He coughs awkwardly, remembering that the other ‘thing’ at the pool had been evil-lizard Jackson, but that wasn’t helpful right now. Stiles nervously taps his foot and quickly continues:

 

“There’s also Matt, and just,” he swallows hard, “drowning, man, that’s just, I don’t know.”

 

That’s a lie; he knows, far too well.

 

“And just this entire shitshow, you know? I’m surprised it has taken me so long to freak out, really. The pool just was - a trigger of sorts, I guess? Like I couldn’t smell candy floss for the longest time after my mum, and apparently now I can’t put my foot into chlorine water anymore.” 

 

He shrugs and sneaks a look at Jackson. He doesn’t look particularly reassured yet, his shoulders hunched and his mouth tight.

 

“And I forced you back into a swimming pool.”

 

Stiles groans and decides that this is it. 

 

“Oh shut it, dumbass,” he says and grabs a handful of cold curly fries. “Not everything is about you, you know,” he adds and throws the fries at Jackson.

 

Jackson screams and jumps so violently that he hits his head on the car roof. Stiles starts laughing so hard that he has to lean over to try to catch his breath.

 

“My car! Stilinski, you ass! Oh, you’re going to regret that!” Jackson shouts and lunges over the centre console at Stiles, landing half on top of him. Stiles gasps and laughs even harder, particularly when Jackson starts tickling him, laughing as well. Both of their laughter is more than a little hysterical but Stiles doesn’t care. Any laughter is better than everything before that.

 

Jackson hits a particularly ticklish spot between Stiles’ ribs, and Stiles shrieks and tries to wriggle out of Jackson’s grip. Jackson laughs and just digs his fingers in harder. They keep laughing and play-fighting until Stiles is completely out of breath. It’s the good kind of breathless though, the kind that comes from too much laughter and not enough air, and not from too many thoughts running through his head.

  
They are both quiet now, and it should be awkward; Jackson is basically hugging Stiles! But the only awkward thing are their positions and how Stiles can’t feel his legs anymore. Jackson’s arms are wrapped around him, one hand on Stiles’ chest where he’d been tickling him just moments before, the other on Stiles’ hip where Jackson had held him still. 

 

Stiles takes a deep breath and feels Jackson’s chest moving in tandem with his at his back. He feels calm and, just, good, for the first time today and is loath to move and break the spell, but he really can’t feel his legs anymore. So he squeezes Jackson’s hand on his hip and slowly starts sitting up. Jackson sits up as well, moving back to his side of the car. When Stiles looks over to him, he sees that Jackson is fixing his hair, even though Stiles was in no position to touch it and mess it up.

 

“Oh come on, you diva, leave your poor hair alone. It looks great,” Stiles scoffs and Jackson turns towards him with a smirk. 

 

“You like it, Stilinski?”

 

Stiles can feel his cheeks growing hot and tries to play it off by dramatically exclaiming: “Like it? I love it!”

 

It backfires a little though, because it rings far too true. Jackson just grins broadly and winks at Stiles.

 

“Of course you do, Stilinski, I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

 

Stiles smiles back helplessly, and tries not to fret too much over how this feels like they’re flirting and how this entire afternoon has felt like a date.

 

~*~

 

They keep having not-dates and it’s messing with Stiles’ head.

 

There’s only so many times a guy can get his ice cream paid for before he starts assuming things. No, really, the only way Stiles gets to pay for his own food anymore is when he jumps out of the porsche before Jackson has even turned it off and runs into the ice cream parlour or wherever they are that day and tells the staff not to let Jackson pay for anything under any circumstances.

 

But mostly it’s Jackson who snatches away the bill before Stiles can get it, who holds open any and all doors for Stiles and who just won’t stop smirking and winking!

 

Stiles  _ knows _ it doesn’t mean anything, more often than not Lydia is still sitting in the passenger seat when Jackson picks up Stiles in the morning, but Stiles just can’t help himself.

 

It feels like they’re dating. 

 

Just without the kissing and stuff. And Stiles would really like some kisses and stuff.

 

~*~

 

They are sitting in Stiles’ room, talking about Lacrosse and their chances in the championship next year. Well, Jackson is talking, and throwing his hands around in what is probably supposed to represent strategy moves, but looks more like he’s conducting a very dramatic piece of music. Stiles just listens and grins.

 

He quickly tries to hide that grin when Jackson turns towards him, probably waiting for some kind of reaction to something he said that Stiles didn’t bother listening to, but Jackson catches it and mock glares at Stiles. Stiles just grins harder and Jackson topples him onto the bed and tries to tickle him. They wrestle for the upper hand and Stiles manages to flip them over so that he is on top. There’s no chance in hell he’d be able to do that if Jackson used his full werewolf powers but Jackson has been far more aware and thus careful about his strength from the beginning than Scott ever was, or still is really.

 

If he had to guess, Stiles would say that it’s because of their difference in strength even before being bitten. Scott never had to watch his grip or how strongly he pushed Stiles, because there was never any significant strength behind it. Jackson however was pretty well in form even before the bite. Okay, he was hella fit; Stiles can admit that now. He’s made it past denial into the acceptance stage. But that meant that the werewolf power wasn’t completely new, like with Scott, but just multiplied what was there before. And with Lydia being so tiny, Jackson had probably learned to check his strength even before the whole supernatural thing became, a, well, thing.

 

Oh god, Lydia!

 

Stiles jerks back from where he’d been practically sitting in Jackson’s lap, blushing furiously. He might not want to get into her pants anymore, but he doesn’t think that she’d like him trying to get into her boyfriend’s pants all that much more. Not that he actually would, because well, death defying true love, a guy can take a hint, but still, sitting in Jackson’s lap doesn’t help convince his heart of the futility of its misplaced affections. And now he’s getting sappy and poetic, awesome. 

 

“Hey.”

 

While Stiles had been lost in his own thoughts, Jackson had closed the already small distance between them again and is now kneeling in front of Stiles, so that they’re almost nose to nose. Stiles’ eyes involuntarily slip down to where Jackson’s mouth is curled up in a gentle smile, before flicking back up to stare into Jackson’s eyes. His voice is curiously hoarse when he replies:

 

“Hi?”

 

Neither of them moves for a moment, too caught in this bubble of possibility, of potential. Then Stiles licks his suddenly dry lips, breaking the spell, and Jackson’s stare drops down to Stiles’ lips. Jackson opens his mouth and Stiles finds himself holding his breath, waiting for - something, anything. There’s another moment of hesitation and then Jackson whispers, voice just as hoarse as Stiles’ a moment before:

 

“Kiss me.”

 

And Stiles scrambles backwards, actually falling off his bed in his hurry to get away from Jackson. 

 

“Oh fuck you very much, Jackson Whittemore,” he hisses, aware that he’s probably beet-red and definitely lying on his back on the floor because he fell out of bed and most definitely looking terribly pathetic right now.

 

Jackson isn’t looking too cool himself, though, his expression completely dumbfounded and his posture equally awkward to Stiles’. He must have overbalanced when Stiles moved because he’s half-lying, half-kneeling on the bed, his hands pressed into the mattress as if he’d only just caught himself before he’d faceplanted. 

 

“What?”

 

Jackson’s voice is flat, devoid of any emotion, but it’s still hoarse and that “kiss me” is running around Stiles’ mind, smacking into doors and running down walls and making it hard to think. So the first thing that comes out is:

 

“I thought we were friends,” and it comes out far sadder and far less angry than Stiles would have liked it to be.

 

Jackson still looks confused and Stiles hates that it just makes him look better, more approachable somehow, more human than his literally supernaturally good looks usually make him appear.

 

“Of course we are friends, Stilinski, what are you going on about?”

 

Jackson seems to have recovered himself at least somewhat, a hint of his typical smirk back in place, but Stiles knows that for the armour it is and suddenly there’s the anger that was missing before.

 

“Don’t you fucking dare, Jackson!” he shouts and pushes himself of the floor until he’s standing in front of Jackson and somehow being taller than Jackson gives him the courage he needs to continue.

 

“You don’t get to play this off! I know they’re a joke to you, but they aren’t to me!”

 

Jackson has sat up as well, but he’s still shorter than Stiles and is staring up at him with a lost look.

 

“What are you talking about? What’s a joke to me?”

 

“My feelings, asshole!” Stiles exclaims and rushes on before Jackson can interrupt him. “I wouldn’t have ever done anything about them, so there’s no need to mock me for them! I’m well aware of Lydia and your epic love story, thank you very much!”

 

Jackson furrows his brow and asks: “Lydia?” and Stiles throws his hands up in the air, because, seriously?

 

“Yes, Lydia! Remember her? Your one true love? Saved you with the power of her love? Ring a bell?”

 

To Stiles’ bewilderment, Jackson starts to laugh at that.

 

“What?” Stiles demands, feeling lost himself now and very much pissed off. 

 

Jackson shakes his head and says: “I don’t love Lydia.”

 

Stiles raises his eyebrows judgingly and Jackson quickly corrects himself.

 

“I mean, of course I love her, it’s Lydia! But not like that! We talked, after everything, and decided that while we love each other, we are not in love with each other? And weren’t really good as a couple anyways? I still love her, but more like a sister.”

 

“That’s pretty incestuous.”

 

Stiles’ brain is still trying to work through all that new information and apparently turned off his brain-to-mouth filter in the meantime.

 

“I guess,” Jackson shrugs, but the twinkle in his eyes is back and Stiles has this tightening feeling in his stomach, something hot and cold and not quite hope. When Jackson doesn’t add anything else, Stiles swallows and, gathering all of his courage, asks:

 

“So what does that mean? For us?”

 

Jackson smiles, and it’s not the smirk he gives everyone, but the smile that is private, that Stiles has only seen Jackson direct at Lydia, Danny, and lately Stiles himself.

 

“It means I’d like to kiss you if that’s alright.”

 

Stiles’ brain has officially shut down. 

 

Unfortunately his mouth keeps working.

 

“But why?”

 

It comes out a little plaintive and a lot confused and Stiles can feel his face burning. He starts to turn away but Jackson moves with supernatural speed and grabs his wrist before he’s out of reach. Jackson just gently holds onto his wrist, not tugging or otherwise trying to move Stiles in any way, but it’s still enough to stop Stiles from moving away. For a moment they are in a standstill again, Jackson sitting on the bed and Stiles standing in front of him, Jackson’s hand around Stiles’ wrist their only point of contact, a fragile connection that might break any second.

 

Then Jackson slides his hand down so that it’s wrapped around Stiles’ fingers and just like that they’re holding hands. Again. 

 

“I like you, Stiles. I know I was an asshole to you and that’s not even taking all the other stuff into account, but you still listened to me, and talked to me, and just, I don’t know what I would have done without you after -” he swallows, “well, just after everything. And somehow you’ve become one of my best friends, and I trust you, and I like you, and apparently you like me, too, so just please, kiss me?”

 

“Oh,” Stiles’ brain is reeling all of these revelations and his face is burning, but he can also feel his lips starting to stretch into a wide and happy grin.

 

“Oh!” he repeats and Jackson grins back at him. 

 

“Yes, ‘oh’, Stilinski. Now come back here. Don’t make me get up and get you.”

 

“Or else?” 

 

Stiles is almost giddy with relief and excitement and just sheer adrenaline from the rapid change in emotion he just went through. Jackson’s eyes narrow and before Stiles can take a step back, Jackson jumps up, wraps one arm around Stiles’ waist and the other one around his neck and drags Stiles down onto the bed with him.

 

Stiles ends up awkwardly sprawled over Jackson, but when he tries to sit up or at least move away a little, so that they’re not pressed together so much anymore, Jackson wraps his arms even more tightly around Stiles’ torso.

 

“Well?” Jackson asks, smirking up at Stiles.

 

They’re so close that their noses are almost touching. The fluttering in Stiles’ stomach is back with full force but he still doesn’t quite dare take the last step.

 

“Well what?” he asks instead and Jackson rolls his eyes. He’s still smiling softly though, so Stiles doesn’t react other than grinning down at him.

 

“Fine then,” Jackson says and curves his hand around Stiles’ neck and tugs gently. Stiles’ eyes slip shut automatically and the last thing he sees before they’re closed entirely is Jackson staring up at him, looking determined, fond, and just a little bit apprehensive, as if there’s still a small part of him that’s afraid that Stiles is going to hit him any second now.

 

There’s nothing Stiles can do to alleviate those fears but lean in and press his lips against Jackson’s. 

 

The first thing he notices is how soft Jackson’s lips are. They are soft and warm and dry and pressing back against his gently. It's a remarkably innocent kiss, hesitant and careful, and it's not how Stiles imagined the first kiss between him and Jackson would go, but, as clichéd as it sounds, it's perfect. 

 

Stiles expected a lot more aggression and well, biting, to be honest. He blames Jackson’s caveman tendencies - all the tackling and shoving. And oh god, Scott was right! 

 

He draws back slightly and says accusingly:

 

“ You were totally pulling my pigtails all this time! What are you, five?”

 

Jackson’s ears are red but he still rolls his eyes and drawls mockingly: 

 

“Oh don’t front, Stilinski. You liked it.”

 

Stiles ignores that he’s not wrong and retorts instead: 

 

“Liked it? I’ve got bruises!”

 

He pulls up his shirt to prove his point but immediately forgets what that point actually was, because Jackson has released his hair and is now trailing his fingers along Stiles’ hipbones instead. He follows the shape of the purple bruise on Stiles’ right side, tracing it lightly with the barest hint of touch that makes Stiles shiver, and then covers it with his palm. It’s actually a regular Lacrosse bruise, nothing that has anything to do with Jackson, but Stiles is pretty sure that neither of them cares about that detail right now. 

 

Jackson’s voice is hoarse when he asks: “Does it hurt?”

 

Stiles’ voice is failing him entirely, so he just shakes his head. Jackson’s thumb gently rubs over his skin and Stiles shudders. 

 

“Tickles,” he says, voice barely a whisper. Jackson’s eyes shoot up from where he’d been staring at his hand on Stiles’ hips and Stiles realises his mistake. 

 

But it’s too late. Jackson grins and digs his fingers into Stiles’ side, who shrieks and flails, stuck between getting away and retaliating. He just ends up moving against Jackson, slowing down to a grind that has lost all pretense of a tickle fight already. Jackson’s hand has slipped from his hip to the small of his back, a hot weight on Stiles’ skin, fingertips teasing at his waistband, stroking over the skin just above, slipping underneath for the feverish fraction of a second. 

 

Stiles’ right arm is stretched out next to Jackson’s head from where he’d been trying to push up to get away from Jackson’s tickling fingers and he draws it in again, until he’s almost touching Jackson’s head, his hair tickling Stiles’ palm. Jackson tilts his head backwards and suddenly Stiles’ hand is touching hair that is surprisingly soft, stroking through the strands, pulling gently, fingertips scratching lightly. 

 

Jackson’s eyes have slipped close and from where they are still pressed together so tightly Stiles can feel the last remnants of tension leave Jackson’s body. It fills him with enough courage to move his other hand up as well, curling it around Jackson’s neck, fingers playing with the short hair there. He tugs playfully and Jackson lets out a groan that makes Stiles bite his lip to hold back an answering moan. He tugs again, harder this time, wanting to hear that sound again, or to see what other sounds he can get Jackson to make. It’s another moan, deeper this time, and drawn out longer and Stiles can’t keep back the gasp that escapes from his own mouth. 

 

There’s a sudden jolt and then Stiles finds himself on his back, Jackson looming over him. 

 

“Tease,” Jackson says, and when Stiles opens his mouth to retort, Jackson swoops in and covers Stiles’ lips with his own. He nips at Stiles’ bottom lip and soothes the sting with his tongue. 

 

Stiles retaliates by licking into Jackson’s mouth, and this time the kiss has all of the aggression and biting Stiles was missing the first time. Every nip, kiss, and lick that Stiles lays on Jackson’s mouth is returned trifold, as if Jackson is trying to prove something. At first Stiles tries to give as good as he gets but then he realises that this actually isn’t a competition, that there is nothing to prove. So he gentles the kiss, relaxes his grip on Jackson’s shoulders and hair and just tries to convey “It’s okay; we’re okay” through everything but words.

 

Slowly, but surely it seems to work. With every stroke through his hair, every flick of Stiles’ tongue, every brush of Stiles’ foot against Jackson’s calf, Jackson relaxes a tiny bit more. His muscles loosen underneath Stiles’ hand on his back and his kisses no longer seek to conquer Stiles’ mouth. 

 

Unfortunately that means that he’s no longer holding himself up either, and Stiles’ next gasp for breath sadly isn’t because of breathtaking kissing issues, but because of heavy werewolf crushing ribcage issues. Thankfully Jackson seems to realise that and he breaks the kiss and rolls off of Stiles, lying down on his back next to him. Stiles takes a few deep breaths and listens to his heart hammering in his chest before he turns onto his side to face Jackson again.

 

Jackson isn’t looking at him, though; he’s staring at the ceiling of Stiles’ room and doesn’t even react when Stiles reaches out and laces their hands together. So Stiles tugs on their joint hands and, when Jackson finally turns his head and looks at him, says: “Hey.”

 

It’s a role reversal from earlier and Jackson seems to realise it, too, because he smiles, and replies: “Hi.”

 

For a few minutes they just grin at each other, lying on Stiles’ bed, hands joined between them, and say nothing. Eventually Jackson turns onto his side as well, putting him closer to Stiles again. He bites his lip and then says:   
  
“I’m sorry I pulled your pigtails.”

 

And Stiles knows that this isn't about Stiles’ nonexistent pigtails - at least not exclusively. So he squeezes Jackson’s hand and replies:

 

“It’s fine. Just don't pull too hard.”

 

It's woefully inadequate for what he's trying to say but Stiles hopes Jackson can read between the lines as well. He needn't have worried though, because Jackson shuffles closer until they are nose to nose and their legs are tangled. His eyes roam over Stiles’ face, focusing on Stiles’ lips, which are still tingling slightly from their earlier kisses, for a few long moments before settling on Stiles’ eyes. Jackson stares into them as if he's trying to find the answers to all his questions there so Stiles tries to be as open as possible. 

 

Unfortunately he can't keep his eyes open for an indefinite amount of time; he has to blink at last. While his eyes are closed Jackson closes the last distance between them and presses their lips together quickly. It's barely a peck really, but for some reason it makes Stiles blush harder than the aggressive - and hot! - make-out session earlier. He tries to cover up his reaction, asking:

 

“What was that for?”

 

Jackson seems to have regained his equilibrium, because he just smirks and shrugs:

 

“I just felt like it.”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and stretches forward to press a slightly longer kiss to Jackson’s lips. He's gratified to see that it's now Jackson’s turn to blush and ask unnecessary questions:

 

“And what was that for now?”

 

“Oh you know,” Stiles shrugs, biting his lower lip in a fruitless effort to keep back the grin that he just can't seem to wipe off his face.  “I just felt like it.”

 

Jackson groans and lets go of Stiles’ hand only long enough to smack his shoulder slightly. Then they're back to grinning at each other wordlessly. This thing between them feels very fragile still, but Stiles also can't help thinking that this is something good, with the potential to be something great, that perhaps this is  _ it _ . 

 

He’s just about to say something - what, he isn't quite sure yet, possibly something incredibly sappy, but probably just something inane, like “now what?”. But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a huge yawn. Jackson smirks at him, but all he says is:

 

“Nap?”

 

Stiles might have argued against it but now that he has started yawning he can't seem to stop. And Jackson’s blinks have steadily been getting longer and slower, too. So he just scoots that bit closer to Jackson until their entire fronts are touching and he can feel Jackson’s body heat seep through both of their clothes. Then he squeezes Jackson’s hand again and closes his eyes. 

 

The last thing he feels before he falls asleep is a kiss being pressed to his forehead and Jackson tangling their legs more tightly. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com) (and talk me into writing a sequel if you are so inclined).


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